Incomplete
by MissZatanna
Summary: " No one is supposed to know where he is, save for Batman. So when she shows up at his door looking like a breath of fresh air he's a little more than stunned. (And as much as he wants to, he can't ignore the way his heart beats just a little bit faster in his chest at the sight of her.) "


**A/N: kind of a companion piece to All We Are We Are, but not in the same timeline. Just the same kind of plot, I suppose but from Dick's point of view this time. Also largely inspired by _Incomplete _by James Bay. Give it a listen! Please R&R and enjoy!**

* * *

He hasn't seen her since _that _day; the day that haunts him relentlessly. Actually he hasn't really seen _anyone, _and he knows it isn't for their lack of trying to get in touch with him. He told Kaldur that he needed a break and it was true. It's just that no one thought he also meant a break from them too.

He's been off the grid for a few weeks - took a year sabbatical from the Bludhaven PD, shacked up in a new apartment in Seattle, and has been fighting the good fight on his own. He's made sure to keep out of the public eye as both Dick Grayson, the famous ward of Bruce Wayne, and Nightwing. Though he hasn't donned that suit since he saw Wally pass on his. When he catches a glimpse of the blue and black in the back of his closet one morning, he thinks about loyalty. If Kid Flash couldn't fight, Nightwing wouldn't either. It was time for something new.

No one is supposed to know where he is, save for Batman. And he really only told him because, let's face it, he totally would have found out eventually. Nothing gets past the world's greatest detective. So when she shows up at his door looking like a breath of fresh air he's a little more than stunned. (And as much as he wants to, he can't ignore the way his heart beats just a little bit faster in his chest at the sight of her.)

Zatanna has one hand on the door frame, leaning against it with her arm holding her up and the other perched on her hip. A small smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes crosses her lips as she takes in his surprised expression and confused eyes. "Found you." It reminds him of simpler times of hide and seek.

His mouth must hang open because he feels himself close it and swallow hard. "How did-"

"How do you think?" She opens one palm face up in front of her and a few sparks fly from the center. He should have known she'd find him. But then again, he can't say he's not glad she did. Or that he didn't hope she would eventually. He'd rather see her than anyone else.

She steps into the apartment when he doesn't say anything and instantly notices how bare it is. It's a studio, so it's basically a square with a corner reserved for the kitchen area and the living room doubling as a bedroom with his bed where the couch should be. There's two doors which she assumes is one to a linen closet and the other the bathroom, but other than that, the whole of his living quarters is there before her eyes. Dick's always been a neat person; he thinks it's because it's nice to have control of this one thing at least, even when everything else around him is falling apart. But the state of his apartment isn't just uncluttered - it's desolate. Save for the open closet with a few garments hanging inside and a stray water bottle sitting on the nightstand, no one would know there was actually someone living here.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wonders if he keeps it this way out of habit or to make it easier to leave it all behind. Probably both.

He notices her staring and the clicking of the door as he closes it behind her breaks her of out of her reverie. Sitting herself on a bar stool that faces him, she doesn't need to verbalize what she's thinking because her eyes say it all. With a halfhearted shrug, he replies, "I'm okay."

The truth is, though, he's anything but. Ever since Wally died, he's been running himself ragged. If he stops moving, even just for a moment, he feels like he's reliving the moment Barry broke the news to him, and he gets the wind knocked out of him all over again. It's been days since he's had a decent amount of sleep and it shows under his eyes. He's _so_ tired, but the nightmares are worse than ever so he gets just enough to keep him functioning and focused to where he doesn't_ die_ while fighting when he's patrolling. But his lack of sleep also means his sparring is just sloppy enough that when he does get injured they're the worst he's ever had. And the nights when he just can't stay awake anymore and lets himself drift off, he regrets it immediately.

It's his own version of A Nightmare On Elm Street, except Freddy Krueger is an all-too-familiar, speedy redhead who doesn't pull off the hat even a little bit.

Zatanna can see right through him though, the way that she's always been able to, and he knows it. She worries her bottom lip with her teeth for a moment before, "You're not responsible for Wally's death, Dick." And she knows he's heard it all before, but maybe if they're persistent, he'll start to believe it.

"Aren't I?" She doesn't flinch at his wry tone that accompanies his serious expression. She knows how hard he's been taking the loss of his best friend, but what she sees more than others - what she understands from losing her own father as a consequence of her decisions - is how much he's blaming himself for it.

He walks over to the refrigerator, and grabs the water pitcher before pouring her a glass. Wally is never far from his mind, but right now he doesn't know if he can take it after his most recent nightmare, scarier and more real than any of the others. He sets the tumbler in front of her on the bar before turning his back to her and facing the counter. If she can't see his face, she can't see just how _scared_ he is.

"They were happy, Zee. They were content without the Life, and I pulled them back in."

"They _chose _to-"

"But would they have if I hadn't offered? If I hadn't dangled the fate of the world in front of her eyes, would Artemis have come back? If I hadn't pulled her into our scheme, would Wally have put on the red and yellow again?"

Saying his questions out loud is almost cathartic. It's like maybe with them out in the open air he'll finally get some answers.

Zatanna's lips form into a thin line and her forehead creases in concern as she watches Dick's shoulders sink and bow under the weight of too many years of loss and misplaced blame. He's drowning. She tries softly, "You know he would have. We all know that once he saw the Reach trying to take over the world, he'd be right there fighting with us."

"Maybe not."

She wants to slap him. She wants to wake him up and make him see just how irrational he's being. She wants to end this "pity party" of his because it's helping no one, especially not himself. But she knows this grief, she's lived through it, and when she was drowning in her own guilt he was there to throw her a rope. She loves him too much to watch him plunge deeper under the waves.

"Wally would want you to come back," she says firmly.

And it's like he's already rehearsed every possible reason for him not to because he says without hesitance, "I need a break. I need to grieve."

She knows he does. And she should respect his wishes because everyone heals in their own ways and in their own time. But she also knows _him, _and he won't stop until he's forgotten everyone he left behind. Or until he's run himself into the ground trying.

"But you're not grieving, Dick. You're running away from it." With a sigh, she tries one last time in vain to make him see sense. "If you really believe you're responsible for his death, then you owe it to him to keep fighting. You owe it to him to believe that it wasn't your fault."

He has half a mind to laugh because what she's saying is a Catch-22 and doesn't make any sense at all. But the heavy tension surrounding them feels suffocating so he stays silent and stoic, like the bat he never wanted to become.

"Zatanna," he warns lowly, his fists clenching at his sides because he can feel his heart start to pound and he knows what's coming. He's at the edge.

"Come home, Dick."

She knows she's pushed him too far when his fists slam down on the counter, clenched with white knuckles. She's still staring at his back and can almost see the tension and stress physically spreading through him, muscles rippling like waves after a storm. "No! I _can't._" His voice cracks at this and gives out, holding back the urge to scream. His eyes burn with weeks of unshed tears and for the first time since Wally's funeral, they break through the dam and flow freely.

His knees wobble and he feels like he's about to fall, thankful for his grip on the counter to keep him afloat. But before he knows it, Zatanna's squeezing herself between him and the counter, pressing herself against him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders pulling him close; she's always been his lifesaver. He has to hunch a little because he's grown just a bit taller than her (even in her heels) but he clutches her to him and buries his face in her shoulder, body wracked with sobs. His hands fist the back of her shirt, using her as an anchor, too afraid to let go, for fear of another person he loves drifting off without him.

His hair is a bit shaggy and longer than he's used to wearing it and it feels nice when she runs a hand through it soothingly, massaging his scalp. When he feels his neck become damp, he realizes idly that she's crying too. Her scent of lavender invades his nostrils and grounds him to this moment; to her.

She lets him get it all out and after a while the tears start to subside and he feels _tired_. He pulls back a bit hesitantly, noticing how the shoulder of her blouse is drenched and thinking to himself that if she wants, she can throw it in the dryer. She pulls back as well and looks at him with tears in her own eyes and a sadness he can't quite place. He thinks about when she lost her father and how much it hurt to see her hurt. He wonders if she feels the same looking at him now. His hands are on her hips, his thumb rubbing against the fabric of her shirt soothingly back and forth like if he does it long enough it'll smooth out the pain in his chest.

Some tears still linger on his eyelashes and he blinks so that they run down his cheeks but they're caught on her thumbs as she wipes them away, hands on either side of his face. And the beating of his heart starts to increase again.

Blue eyes he realizes he's missed all along stare back into his own and he can't ignore the pang of longing he feels for things to go back to the way they used to be. With barbecues and lingering stares and that mischievous smirk that always, _always_ got them into trouble. With the red and yellow by his side, infinitely snacking.

He closes his lids and breaks the contact of blue against blue because staring into her eyes too deeply and being reminded of simpler, happier times hurts too much. Letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, he leans forward a little until his forehead rests against hers. He can feel her breath against his face, a bit shaky. He wonders if she feels what he does.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he tries to remember why they broke up in the first place, but stops himself before he can. Instead, he catches her lips with his own and swears a part of him he'd forgotten a long time ago comes back to life. For the first time in weeks, he feels okay. For the first time since he lost his best friend, he feels _alive. _The kiss is slow and hesitant and nothing like their first that New Year's Eve a million years ago.

For a moment, as he pulls away, eyes still closed, too afraid to face her stare, he wonders if he made a mistake. But she understands him, as always - understands just how much he needs someone to pull him out of the freezing waters; understands just how much he'd missed her warm touch (and she his)- because she leans in and kisses him this time, threads her fingers through his hair and pulls him closer.

His head is swimming and his heart pounds against his ribs, because it isn't just Wally's death that's left Dick feeling empty, but the absence of his first love burrowed deep in his bones for a long while. They'd learned to be incomplete without each other but now with her in his arms, he wonders if he'll ever be able to go back. They'd broken up because it was the right thing to do. But he wonders sometimes if she regrets it as much as he does.

Laying in bed post coital with her head on his chest and his fingers running through her loose curls, she reveals that yes, she does. He hums against her hair as she runs her fingers over his bare chest but neither of them bring up changing their relationship status to something more than good friends. For reasons he'd rather not get into and as much as they love each other, they both know it would never work. She squeals a bit as he rolls them over, pinning her underneath him with his one hand guiding her legs to wrap around his waist and his other clutching her hand above her head. He decides that he'll take what he can get and prolongs his descent back into madness by slowly building up her peak.

Cuddled with his arm over her waist and her back pressed against his chest, he's pretty sure he murmurs an "I love you" as he finally lets himself be pulled under the waves. And he might have just been dreaming it, but he's pretty sure she said it back.

He doesn't get the chance to ask her, though, because he wakes up to an empty bed and can't help the disappointment that pulls at his heartstrings. Her scent still lingers on his sheets and pillows and he lets himself sleep in longer, holding onto what she's left behind for as long as possible. He chuckles wryly to himself. She succeeded in getting his mind off the loss of a certain redhead, but it's only replaced with the absence of her. As he finally resigns to getting up, he notices just how _awake _he feels.

His duffel is packed by mid-afternoon, any trace of Dick Grayson wiped clean from the city. Hoisting it onto his shoulder, he turns to give his most recent living quarters a curt nod before turning the lock a final time and heading out into the world he'd tried so hard to hide from. He presses speed dial on his cell and holds it to his ear, anxiously waiting for the receiver to click and for someone to answer.

"Hey, it's me. I'm coming home."


End file.
